ru stared at the bird. How did it know her full name?

The head chakora must have guessed her question, because it hopped over to its boulder and began pecking something on the ground in front of it.

For the first time, Aru noticed a nest there, full of shiny objects.

“Arundhati, Arundhati,” it sang. “Ah, yes! Here we are!”

It picked up a bright pebble with its beak, flung it out of the nest, and a new vision leaped up before her.

Aru held her breath as the Sleeper once more flickered to life, walking through the chakora forest. He looked the same age he had been when he visited the crypt, but there was something different about him. His shoulders were hunched as if carrying a heavy weight, and his mismatched eyes looked haunted.

“If you wish to pass through our lands and continue your search, you must give us a secret,” chanted the birds in the vision.

“I’ve given enough,” said the Sleeper hoarsely.

Aru felt a chill race across her arms. In the crypt he had sacrificed all his memories of childhood. And it showed. His clothes looked a little frayed, and his wedding band fit looser around his finger, as if he’d lost weight.

“But you’ve given nothing to us,” said the birds.

The Sleeper inhaled deeply, seemingly to gather his strength. “A secret…” He placed his hand over his heart and said, “My wife said I could pick our daughter’s name, and I’ve found something that I hope will suit her,” he said. “I will name her Arundhati. For the morning star. So that my daughter will always be a light in the dark.”

The vision faded.

“This secret belongs more to you than us, Arundhati.”

The head chakora nudged the pebble into a splinter of moonlight, which lifted it from the ground and floated it over to Aru. Before she could grab it, the bright stone lodged itself into the second hollow on her pendant.

Two lost memories of the Sleeper now dangled from her neck.

Aru stood there, numb. She wondered how many times the Sleeper had said her name before her mother trapped him in the diya. Just that once? Twice? Ten times? Had he thought of the name when he was stuck in that lamp for all those years and come to hate it—and her? Or had he given up so much of himself by the end that it didn’t bother him at all? Aru wasn’t sure which thought made her sadder.

In all these years, Aru had never thought to ask her mom about the origin of her name. She wished she had, if only so it wouldn’t feel like such a horrible surprise to know this connection to the Sleeper. He’d named her. Out of love. With the hope that she’d be full of light.

And yet, when he’d first spoken to her, there’d been no love or light in his voice, just something cold and alien as he’d taunted, Oh, Aru, Aru, Aru…what have you done?

Aru squeezed her eyes shut.

What had she done? She could have asked him the same thing: What had he done? What had been done to both of them?

And what did it mean that he’d named her? What if she was more like him than she’d thought?

“It’s just a name, Shah,” said Aiden.

Aru jerked and opened her eyes to find him standing beside her.

“I was named Aiden because my parents couldn’t decide and picked something from the Internet,” he said.

“I got mine from my grandmother,” said Mini.

“Mine was chosen for its auspiciousness,” said Rudy loftily.

Brynne grunted. “Well, my name literally means hill, and my mom chose it because I turned out to be a girl and she couldn’t use the name Brian.”

That made Aru look up sharply. “Brian? You would’ve been Brian?”

“Yep,” said Brynne, grinning. “Watch out, world.”

Aru laughed, feeling somewhat better.

“It’s just a name,” she said, mostly to herself.

But in her heart, she knew it was more than that. It was a promise that had been ripped from her. A treasure she hadn’t even realized she’d lost. Before he came to be the Sleeper, Suyodhana was just someone who wanted to be her dad. Maybe he would’ve been the one who nicknamed her Aru first, howling it like a wolf: Aroooooo! Maybe it would’ve started out a joke between them instead of something she’d done to make fun of herself before anybody else could.

A terrible ache of loss settled in her chest, and Aru tried to hide it. She didn’t want to feel this confusing mix of anger and pity and pain, much less show it. It would make people believe all the more that she was destined to turn on them. To become the “untrue” sister.

Aiden faced the chakora birds. “We’ve done our part and spoken our secrets. Now it’s your turn. Read the piece of moonlight for us so we know where to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay longer?” asked Sohail plaintively.

Aru hadn’t noticed until now that he’d hopped closer to Vajra…and that her lightning bolt didn’t seem to mind.

The elder birds nodded and lifted off their moon branches, circling over Rudy, who held out the thin pane. The moonbeams traveled with them, trailing silvery threads that landed on the mysterious message and scanned it like lasers.

A woman’s voice echoed through the forest as the words appeared in English:

All growing things know where the tree can be found,

But it takes the right ear to hear the right sound.

All growing things know, but not all wish to talk.

The youngest of roots are the best to unlock.

When the voice faded, Aru saw that each of her friends wore a matching expression of confusion.

Sohail piped up from his branch. “I like trees,” he said. “And I’m excellent with growing things.”

“The right sound…” said Rudy, staring at the now blank message. “Maybe it’s talking about me.”

“I think it means Nikita,” said Mini. “Sorry.”

Sohail puffed out his chest. “Show me this Nikita, and I shall vanquish him for the heart of my true love!”

The group ignored the bird.

“All the more reason to get to her,” said Brynne, eyeing the elevator to the House of the Moon’s palace. “If only we knew how to operate the elevator.” She said this last part in a stage voice, glaring meaningfully at Sohail.

Sohail immediately flew over to the pillar of moonlight and landed next to its control button. “I do!”

On the horizon, they could see a faint seam of red. Dawn was coming, and the pillar began dissolving like sugar in tea. The other chakora birds squawked and cawed as their moonbeams began to fade.

“Come, Sohail!” they yelled. “Let us go to another moonlit grove!”

But Sohail only had eyes for Vajra. He hung his head. “I know you have to go. I just wish I could come too,” he said sorrowfully. “But I will still help you, my beloved. You and your companions may board, and I shall ensure you arrive safely. But hurry before the night disappears.”

They raced toward the elevator. At Sohail’s soft caw, the pillar of moonlight expanded and two silver doors slid open to reveal a moonlit lounge with plush chairs, chrome and glass tables, and glittering portraits lining the walls. Even though the sunrise was beginning to lighten the world outside, the tall and narrow windows in the elevator looked out onto eternal night.

“Never fear,” explained Sohail as the Potatoes stepped inside, “it is a long but pleasant ride.”

Aru was the last to board. Vajra leaped off her wrist, transforming itself into a bird with electric wings. It flapped its wings twice and a gentle shower of sparks cascaded onto Sohail. The chakora rolled over, basking in it, and then Vajra turned back into a bracelet at Aru’s wrist. A slight sensation of warmth infused Aru’s skin, as if her lightning bolt were letting out a sigh.

“Farewell, my love!” said Sohail mournfully.

Just before the elevator doors closed all the way, the bird called out, “Maybe we can try long distance?”